


Fell Deeds, Awake

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things to be bothered by about the movie version of Helm's Deep, the one that really gets to me is the fact that it's <b>Gimli</b> who sounds the Horn of Helm Hammerhand. Here's my attempt to give this quandary a bit of depth: the conversation between Aragorn and Théoden in the Hornburg, from a rather Dwarvish perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fell Deeds, Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

*****  
 **Note**  
Lots of people helped me write this story, but I am especially thankful to Dwimordene, Gwynnyd, Lady Aranel, and Tanaqui. As always your assistance is invaluable.  
*****

“Is there no other way to get out of the caves?”

Legolas and I heaved the table onto its side. Its candles, maps, and a stray goblet clattered to the floor; they were answered by the sound of heavy uruk-hai feet on the stone path outside, and the thud of their wood-and-iron ram against the door. We hurried to carry the table to help block their entrance, but I kept my ear on the conversation across the room.

“Is there no other way?” Aragorn asked again.

My task completed, I turned and saw Theoden’s pained expression across the room. He looked down at the ancient stonework, into the dying fire -- anywhere but at the faces of his marshal and his new-found ally. Gamling reluctantly answered Aragorn: yes, there was a path away into the mountains, but the women and children had no hope on that road; the uruks were too many.

“Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain passes,” Aragorn ordered. “And barricade the entrance!”

The marshals looked up at that. One or two of the oldest perhaps caught again a glimpse of Thorongil, the eagle-star of the North who had ridden with Theoden’s father Thengel; the rest at least knew that Aragorn was favoured by the king. But I could see it in their eyes: they thought the foreigner stubborn, or simply slow. Had Gamling not spoken sooth? And what did Theoden wish of them? Their lord stood before them, his shoulders stooped. If this was Theoden’s will, why did he not say so?

I saw something different in this contest of wills.

I had marched with Dain from the Iron Hills to Erebor all those years ago, and seen another leader of men, distant kin of Theoden king. In Bard’s eyes, I had seen the certainty as he risked war to save _his_ uprooted women and children.

Yet Bard had not suffered a Wizard’s deceptions. He had not recently awoken from a death-like slumber. He had not had to fear that his sister-daughter would die at those uruks’ hands if he failed.

When I looked on Theoden’s face, I saw weariness. I saw a king who lacked not only hope but the will to lead his people even when there was no hope.

“So much death,” he said. “What can men do against such reckless hate?”

Once more the ram battered the door. Once more the barricades quivered.

So the end had come. What _could_ men -- or dwarves -- do against blind loathing such as this?

“Ride out with me.” The words were little more than a whisper on Aragorn’s lips, calm and secure in their power. Theoden heard, and he stood taller. “Ride out and meet them.” More of Eorl’s ancient worth awakened in the king’s eyes at that request.

“For death and glory,” Theoden said, his voice losing some of the lassitude that had troubled it that night.

Aragorn looked earnestly across at Theoden. “For Rohan,” he corrected him. Taking a few steps across the room, he added, more quietly, “For your people.”

A beam of light fell at my feet, as it had in Moria. But this would be no tomb. Remembering Gandalf’s words at the stables in Edoras, I looked at Aragorn Dúnadan and Theoden Ednew.

“The sun is rising,” I said, turning my eyes to the window above my head.

“Look for my coming,” Gandalf had said. “At dawn, look to the east.” I had not believed at the time that Rohan’s defences could hold. But now... dawn had come. We would look to the east.

“Yes,” Theoden nodded. His gaze never left Aragorn’s face, but his own features seemed to glow with a radiance that was not due to the dawn alone. Perhaps he too was thinking of the way Gandalf had drawn him from the dark. Or perhaps, like all men, he simply welcomed the rising sun -- that light which had always been the hope of Men and guided their steps since it first rose.

Whatever moved him, at least he had found the strength to make one last charge. “Yes. The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep, one last time.”

“Yes!” I cried with a bellow worthy of Durin himself. The ram beat against the door, splintering it further, but we would fear no more.

The king had told us how Helm had let sound the horn ere he went forth, setting fear into the hearts of his enemies. I was no horseman, but I still had my part to play in this glorious charge. I slid my axe-haft through my belt and ran for the door leading to the steps that wound their way up the Hornburg, to the heart of Helm’s Deep. I took them two at a time, three at a time, trusting in the ancient masonry. I had sprinted across Rohan with Elf and Men when we chased the halflings, forty leagues and five ere the fourth day was ended; this last race left me plenty of breath to sound the alarm.

I set my lips to the ancient horn and blew. The call reverberated against the stone walls of the Deep, and man, elf, and orc raised their heads at its note. In the hall below me I heard another, fainter call answer it: “Forth Eorlingas!” Swords clashed, whinnies broke the air, hooves clattered down the stone ways of the outer courts, at last breaking through the Great Gate, forcing Saruman’s hordes out of their path.

I had fought with my kinsmen at Erebor, Thranduil’s archers and the men of Esgaroth at my side, and had lived to see the morning. We had lived to see this morning, too -- elves, men, and dwarf. Whether we would live to see the afternoon was not yet certain; but we still drew breath.


End file.
